


Self-Loathing Solves Nothing

by sophisticus



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:58:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5043928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophisticus/pseuds/sophisticus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke has been too reckless during her fights, and when Fenris confronts her about it, Hawke finds she's not as in control of her emotions as she wishes she could be.</p><p>ff.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11730514/1/Self-Loathing-Solves-Nothing</p>
            </blockquote>





	Self-Loathing Solves Nothing

  
“For Andraste’s sake, Hawke, you have to be more careful. You were a breath away from getting yourself killed.”  
  
Anders’s chiding was well intentioned, but it still made Hawke bristle. “I know what I’m doing,” she snapped. The flash of hurt that flashed across his face made her pause, but she mentally shrugged it off. As Anders returned to healing the deep gash across her side, an irritated huff from across the room caught her attention.  
  
Fenris glared at her over crossed arms. She knew why he was angry with her, but she didn’t care. As soon as the blue light sparking from Anders’s fingertips began to fade away, she jumped to her feet and pulled her shirt down to cover the now livid scar crossing her ribs. Fenris’s eyes narrowed.  
  
“See you later, Anders,” Hawke called over her shoulder, as she shouldered her staff and strode out of the clinic. She sensed rather than heard Fenris follow.  
  
He was silent all the way to her mansion in Hightown, but she could feel the ire rolling off him in waves. She had just reached for the door handle when he finally spoke.  
  
“Hawke.”  
  
She turned to look at him, ready to tell him to drop it, that it was none of his business, that he should leave her be. Something about his expression made her words die on her tongue.  
  
Hawke sighed. “Come inside.” Better to have this argument away from the nobles of Hightown. People talked enough about her already, no need to add a public screaming match to it.  
  
Fenris followed her into the main room, which was empty of the usual occupants; Bodahn and Sandal had gone out for personal reasons, and Orana had gone to buy herself new clothes. In the corner dozed Hawke’s massive mabari, whose legs twitched as he chased some foe in his dreams. Hawke ignored both her dog and Fenris as she turned into the study and headed upstairs, into the quiet sitting area. She’d spent much time there following Carver’s death in the Deep Roads and after Mother’s death at the hands of the blood mage. She found an open bottle of Aggregio that Fenris had given her some years ago, but opted to not use a glass. She took a deep draft straight from the bottle and set it down in front of her.  
  
Fenris sat across from her, eyeing her warily. His anger was still palpable, but it seemed to have tempered somewhat. Hawke wasn’t a big drinker; seeing her chug wine straight from the bottle sent up a little red flag in his mind.  
  
They sat in silence for some time, sharing the bottle, and when it was finished Hawke retrieved another. It wasn’t a fancy Tevinter wine like the Aggregio, but it had alcohol, which was the important thing tonight. That bottle was nearly gone before Hawke finally spoke. “Alright, if you’re going to yell at me, now’s the time to do it,” she grunted.  
  
Fenris’s eyes narrowed. “You want me to yell at you?”  
  
“I know you’re angry with me, and I know why. Just…get it over with.”  
  
He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Hawke, if you know what I’m going to say, why did you invite me inside?”  
  
She shrugged. Her face was becoming rosier as the alcohol began to kick in. “Because you always yell at me.”  
  
“I yell at you when I have cause to. Such as when you keep being reckless with your life.”  
  
Hawke frowned down at the table. She knew he was right, she had been very reckless recently. She didn’t dodge from blows she normally would have, she took more risks in fights, she sought out fights she normally would’ve avoided. The months following her mother’s death, her mother’s murder, had been hard. Throwing herself into those fights, she had reasoned, was simply a way to get her mind off things.  
  
Except, it hadn’t. Her mother’s deathly pale face haunted her nightmares, left her waking up screaming, left her puking in the bathroom in the early hours of the morning. With every night of less than two hours’ sleep, with every day of barely a bite or two of bread and cheese, she could feel herself deteriorating. And so she fought harder.  
  
As if Fenris could read her thoughts, he continued, “and I know you’re barely eating. You fight more but you fight worse every day. I – we – can all tell that you are not supplying yourself with the proper amount of food to support yourself. And if your dark circles are anything to go by, you’re doing the same for the amount of sleep you get.”  
  
“What are you, my mother,” she muttered, then let out a humorless exhalation of laughter. She reached for the bottle again, but her clumsy hand knocked it over. Fenris caught it before it hit the floor, but instead of setting it on the table again, he recorked it and set it upon its shelf.  
  
“We are all concerned about you, Hawke,” Fenris continued as if she hadn’t spoken. His voice was stern now, the anger fading to reveal the worry behind it.  
  
“I can take care of myself,” Hawke retorted. She knew she sounded like a petulant child, but she didn’t care.  
  
“Clearly.” The sarcasm was biting. “You only starve yourself of both nutrients and rest, and work tirelessly to throw your life away fighting common thugs in the streets.”  
  
“Stop it,” Hawke mumbled. She looked down, finding herself unable to meet the elf’s intense stare.  
  
“You obviously have everything under control. That’s why you have to be healed of life threatening injuries nearly daily, that’s why your face is pale as death, that’s why your dark circles under your eyes make you look like your nose has been broken-”  
  
“Stop-”  
  
“That’s why you’ve grown so thin your ribs protrude from your sides-”  
  
“Stop it!”  
  
Hawke’s hand slammed down on the table, scattering the few loose sheets of paper to the floor. Several of the pages smoked, edges singed from a small burst of her elemental fire. Too late, she realized that the burning around her eyes were tears threatening to spill free. She ground the heels of her hands into her eyes, hoping that Fenris would miss the reddening of her face.  
  
Cool fingers wrapped around her wrists and gently pulled her hands away from her face. His face was inches from hers as he leaned across the table, staring at her with emotions she couldn’t quite identify being held in check. She dropped her eyes from his, hating that he was seeing her break down in front of her. One of his hands cupped under her chin and tilted her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze.  
  
“Hawke,” he said quietly. “It is completely normal to mourn your family’s deaths.” He paused, searching for words. “After what happened with my sister…if anybody can come close to understanding what you’re going through, it’s me. So trust me on this.”  
  
An unexpected chuckle slipped out before Hawke could stop it. Fenris raised an eyebrow in surprise.  
  
“You?” she said. “You don’t have your memories of your previous life. The only memories you have of your sister are ones of betrayal. You don’t have memories of your sister when you protected her from Templars trying to find apostates. You don’t have memories of your mother tucking you into bed, or comforting you when nightmares plague you. You don’t have any memories of vowing to protect your brother, because no matter how much taller than you he grows he will always be your baby brother. You don’t have any memories of a father who loved you and taught you to control your magic, who fought tooth and nail to keep you and your sister out of the Circle since you were toddlers. You have none of these memories, you have no real family, and you think you can understand what I’ve been going through.”  
  
Fenris was silent during her tirade. “You’re right,” he said finally. “I don’t have memories of my family. But it’s thanks to you that one member of my family is still alive, even if it was originally against my wishes. You convinced me to spare my sister, and even if I wasn’t grateful at the time, you helped me do the right thing.”  
  
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Hawke snapped. “Congrats, you have some family left.”  
  
“So do you,” Fenris pointed out. “Your uncle – Gamlen, is it? He still lives.”  
  
Hawke snorted. “He blames me for their deaths,” she grunted. “Bethany, Carver, Mother, all of them.”  
  
“Who do YOU blame?” Fenris asked. When Hawke was silent, his suspicion was confirmed. “Look, Hawke, it’s useless to blame yourself-”  
  
“Don’t tell me not to blame myself!” Hawke leapt to her feet and strode away from him, swaying slightly. “You heard how Bethany died, saving Mother from the Ogre. You were with me when both Carver and Mother died, so you saw firsthand how I could’ve…if I’d been stronger, or faster, or paid closer attention…they’d be…they wouldn’t have…” Hawke’s voice broke, and she clutched at the rail overlooking the main room of her home. She could almost see her mother in her usual spot by the fireplace, reading through a book or talking cheerfully with Orana. Then, her vision blurred and fractured. She raised a hand to her face, vaguely alarmed, only to find her cheeks were wet. Her tears from earlier had finally spilled over.  
  
A firm hand grasped her shoulder and turned her around. Before she could say anything, Fenris had stepped close and pulled her into a tight embrace. She leaned her forehead against the cool breastplate of his armor and closed her eyes. His arms tightened around her as she felt him press a feather light kiss to her hair. “It’s okay to mourn,” he murmured. “It’s okay to cry, to scream, to rage against the world that tore your family from you. Doing so does not make you weak, does not make you less of a leader, doesn’t make you incapable.”  
  
Hawke could feel the wave of emotion swelling up and screwed up her face to attempt to hold it back. Her breath hitched as a soft sob wrenched its way out of her, regardless.  
  
“It’s not your fault, Hawke," Fenris whispered.  
  
At those words, Hawke’s self-control deteriorated, and the flood of emotion burst forth. She clung to him as she sobbed into his chest, mourning her father, her brother, her sister, her mother…and most of all, her own inability to do anything about her family being stripped from her one by one. He held her just as tightly. She knew he had to be uncomfortable with her display of grief, but in that moment she didn’t care. If he hadn’t been there to keep her upright, she’d be a weepy mess on the study floor.  
  
Fenris didn’t try to rush her as she slowly regained control of herself. As her sobs subsided into watery sniffs and sighs, she pulled away from him. She roughly wiped away her tears, head turned away so he couldn’t see the redness of her face or the swollen eyelids that always accompanied crying.  
  
“Marian.”  
  
She glanced at him before turning away again, but actually looked at him when he cupped a cool hand to her hot cheek.  
  
“Please, just…eat a proper meal, okay? And get a good night’s sleep. For me,” he added, almost as an afterthought. Hawke’s eyes dropped from his, to the red ribbon he still kept tied around his wrist over three years later.  
  
Eventually Hawke nodded. “Alright,” she whispered.

  



End file.
